SEA  LANES 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 
MAN-O'-WAR  RHYMES,  $1.50 


SEA    LANES 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 


BURT  FRANKLIN  JENNESS 


THE  CORNHILL  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

BOSTON 


•  - 


Copyright  1921 

by 

The  Cornhill  Publishing  Company 
All  Rights  Reserved 


TO  MOTHER 


M191956 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 

Are  due  to  the  Saturday  Evening  Post,  the  New 
York  Times,  the  Top  Notch  Magazine,  Life,  the 
Birmingham,  Ala. ,  Age  Herald,  and  Our  Navy 
for  permission  to  reprint  many  of  the  poems 
that  appear  herein. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

SEA  LANES 3 

THE  WORLD  OF  SHIPS 5 

THE  SEA  TRAMP 6 

EBB  TIDES 8 

THE  DERELICT 10 

THE  SEAMAN'S  HOUR 12 

THE  FLOTILLA 14 

THE  SEA  DOG 16 

BLUE  WATER 18 

THE  SPORTSMAN 19 

THE  BUSINESS  OF  SAILING 21 

THE  SURFMAN 23 

THE  TRYST  . 25 

THE  "CALLAO  PAINTER" 27 

THE  ALL-ROUND  MAN      . 29 

DRIFTWOOD 30 

UP  ANCHOR 32 

LOOKING  SEAWARD 34 

SEA  LONGINGS 36 

THE  SUMMER  STORM 37 

SEA  MUSING 39 

A  FOG  AT  SEA 40 

SOUTH  OF  FIFTY-THREE 42 

LOST  AT  SEA 43 

KINDRED  SHIPS 45 

SHIPMATES 46 

Ivii] 


SEA  LANES 


PAGE 

THE  OLD  SCUTTLE-BUTT  .......  48 

SHAKIN'  DOWN  ..........  49 

ANCHOR  WATCHES  .........  51 

BUMBOATS    ...........  53 

HEROES  ............  56 

THE  MYSTERY  .....      .....  57 

UNITED  STATES  MARINE  CORPS   .....  59 

THE  HOLYSTONER  .........  60 

THE  MEAL  PENNANT    ........  62 

"JIMMY  LEGS"  ..........  64 

PAYDAY      ...........  66 

SWIMMIN'  CALL       .........  68 

"LAY  AFT"   ..........  70 

"Cmps"        ...........  72 

THE  SEA  LAWYER  .........  74 

"MAIL,  Ho!"     ..........  75 

THE  OLD  DITTY  Box   ........  77 

A  BALLAD  OF  THE  OLD  NAVY       .....  79 

RED  LEAD    ......      .....  81 

THE  ACE      ...........  83 

THE  GALLEY      ..........  84 

THE  SHIP'S  COOK   .........  86 

JACK  o'  THE  DUST        ........  88 

THE  BLUEJACKET   .  .90 


[viii] 


SEA  LANES 


SEA  LANES 


SEA  LANES 

There's  a  road  that  winds  across  the  world, 

With  never  a  home  to  left  or  right; 
Where  never  a  friendly  smoke  has  curled 

Above  a  vagrant's  fire  at  night, 
And  never  the  warmth  of  a  gypsy  camp, 

With  shelter,  and  cup  to  quench  the  thirst; 
Where  never  a  man  should  choose  to  tramp 

But  breaks  his  fetters  of  durance  first. 

The  cross-roads  lead  to  reach  and  rack ; 

The  by-paths  end  on  many  a  shore, 
And  yet  there's  never  a  rut  or  track 

To  tell  who  tramped  the  road  before. 

With  never  a  milestone  on  the  way, 

Or  friendly  tavern  to  greet  the  sight; 
With  only  the  sun  to  guide  by  day, 

And  a  single  star,  perhaps,  at  night. 
It  stretches  away  to  meet  the  sky, 

This  road  that  never  ends  at  all, 
And  up  where  the  meteors  blaze  and  die 

It  catches  the  star  dust  when  they  fall. 

[3] 


SEA  LANES 


Beside  this  road,  with  never  a  breach, 

Are  waving  fields  of  tropic  blue, 
And  stretching  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach 

The  flowering  crests  of  emerald  hue, 
With  cool  dark  furrows  that  lie  between, 

And  like  vast  fields  of  cotton  bloom 
On  slender  stalks  of  watery  green, 

The  tossing  combers  blown  with  spume. 

The  lore  of  the  road  is  free  to  all, 

For  nature's  book  is  there  to  read; 
But  woe  to  him  that  hears  the  call 

And  takes  the  road  —  but  does  not  heed 
For  here  is  a  wild  and  luring  trail 

Leading  away  from  the  haunts  of  men; 
Out  to  the  home  of  the  gull  and  the  whale, 

And  never  leading  back  again. 


[4] 


SEA  LANES 


THE  WORLD  OF  SHIPS 

I  want  to  go  back  to  the  world  of  ships; 
To  the  kicking  seas  where  the  salt  sleet  whips; 
Where  the  flying  spray  will  cling  and  freeze, 
Arid  a  ten-inch  stick  will  snap  in  the  breeze; 
Where  a  dog's  a  dog,  and  a  man's  a  Jack, 
Or  a  man's  a  cur  if  his  deeds  are  black. 
Just  send  me  back  to  the  world  of  ships, 
Where  a  skipper  knows  his  men. 

I  shipped  for  a  cabin  boy  at  ten, 
My  lot  was  cast  with  hairy  men; 
Grizzled  and  rough,  but  true  as  steel, 
Wicked  as  Sin,  but  they  were  real, 
The  God  they  knew  was  the  God  of  the  sea, 
And  a  creed  like  theirs  will  do  for  me. 
So  send  me  back  to  the  world  of  ships, 
For  I'll  know  my  billet  then. 

Send  me  aloft  at  brail  and  clew, 
Lash  me  there  'tween  blue  and  blue; 
Send  me  below  where  the  black  gang  heaves, 
Where  the  pistons  spit,  and  the  crank-shaft  grieves; 
Send  me  on  deck  with  bucket  and  swab; 
Name  the  packet,  and  pick  my  job. 
But  send  me  back  to  the  world  of  ships — 
And  I'll  be  happy  again. 

[5] 


SEA  LANES 


THE  SEA  TRAMP 

A  black  hull  is  lifted  on  the  lee; 

She  dips — and  a  strange  tramp  has  passed; 

A  stately  vagabond  of  the  sea, 

With  lines  unbeautiful,  and  bare  of  mast; 

A  ragamuffin  on  the  road  of  ships; 

A  wanderer  that's  bidden  to  and  fro, 

To  fetch  and  carry  wares  as  fortune  flips 

The  coin  of  trade,  and  tells  her  where  to  go. 

Oft  met  at  every  cross-road  of  the  sea, 

And  docked  in  all  the  ports  of  all  the  world; 

A  hobo,  though  the  tramp  ship  be, 

She  holds  respect  of  every  flag  unfurled. 

Though  dark  of  hull,  unkempt,  and  stern  and  cold; 

The  barnacles  of  ages  on  her  plates; 

The  dust  from  many  countries  in  her  hold, 

And  men  of  every  nation  for  her  mates, 

Yet  she  may  hail  to-day  from  some  far  place, 

And  weather  out  the  fiercest  gale  at  sea, 

To  bring  my  lady  perfume  or  fine  lace, 

Or  serve  her  with  the  choicest  brand  of  tea. 

Her  musty  holds  are  redolent  with  scents 

Of  produce  from  her  many  ports  of  call; 

Her  being  speaks  of  far  off  continents ; 

And  an  air  of  romance  permeates  it  all. 

What  tales  of  daring  might  she  not  tell; 

What  tragedies  of  life  before  the  mast; 

[6] 


SEA  LANES 


How  far  the  wanderlust  might  cast  its  spell  — 
Could  she  but  speak  the  truth  of  cruises  past! 
Of  duty  vigils  at  the  pumps  at  night; 
Of  mutiny  nipped  while  yet  in  bud; 
Of  gaming  crews  in  brawl  by  lantern  light  — 
And  now  and  then  a  murder  in  cold  blood. 
To-day  she  unloads  coffee  from  Brazil; 
Tomorrow  takes  on  wheat  for  Liverpool; 
Free-lancing  'round  the  globe  at  someone's  will  — 
A  tried  and  faithful  ocean-going  fool. 
For  twenty,  thirty,  fifty  years,  or  more, 
Though  fouled  by  drift  and  weed  of  many  seas, 
She  tips  the  horn  of  plenty  at  our  door  — 
That  those  who  scorn  the  tramp  may  live  at  ease. 


m 


SEA  LANES 


EBB  TIDES 

As  some  well  ordered  life 
Might  pass  its  closing  years 
Above  the  seas  of  strife, 
And  ebbs  and  floods  of  tears, 
The  long,  white,  naked  beaches, 
Heat  radiant,  lie  sunning, 
While  down  their  shining  reaches 
The  listless  ebb  is  running. 

They  bask  with  hot  winds  blowing 

Their  sands  from  crest  to  crest, 

Until  the  flood  tide  flowing 

Disturbs  them  at  their  rest. 

The  myriad  bits  of  life, 

That  make  their  wastes  less  drear, 

Are  like  the  good  deeds  rife 

In  a  desolate  career. 

The  sea-urchins  which  bide 

Their  brief  existence  there; 

The  bi-valves,  gaping  wide 

To  take  the  balmy  air ; 

The  sand  crab's  patterned  scrawl; 

Are  soon  effaced  by  seas, 

As  pass  beyond  recall 

Life's  transient  pleasantries. 

[8] 


SEA  LANES 


The  gusts  of  hot  sand  scurrying 
On  breezes  soft  and  light, 
Are  like  vague  fancies  hurrying 
To  reach  ambition's  height. 
The  drift  the  flood  tides  brought 
Is  on  the  sands  outlined, 
As  derelicts  of  thought 
Are  strewn  upon  the  mind. 
The  bits  of  wreckage  smoothed 
By  touch  of  wind  and  wave, 
Like  fits  of  passion  soothed 
By  words  of  counsel  grave. 
The  strands  of  kelp,  uprooted, 
Are  cast  inland  to  dry, 
Like  fond  hopes  torn  and  looted 
And  left  behind  to  die. 


SEA  LANES 


THE  DERELICT 

I  tramp  the  golden  roads  of  Here  and  There, 
I'm  numbered  with  the  foot-loose  and  the  free. 
I  court  the  life  the  gentler  wouldn't  dare. 
I'm  everything  the  nobler  scorn  to  be. 
I'm  all  the  younger  son  should  not  have  been, 
The  worst  that  hopeful  parents  used  to  fear. 
I'm  marked  up  with  the  ones  that  never  win, 
And  running  true  to  form  with  my  career. 
I'm  one  that  brings  the  whisper  in  the  pew, 
The  prayer  for  wayward  ones  upon  the  street, 
The  kind  that  barren  missions  beckon  to, 
And  shame  them  down  the  saw-dust  trail  retreat. 
The  kind  the  goodly  parson  at  the  church 
Warns  his  youthful  congregation  not  to  be; 
That  leaves  his  widowed  mother  in  the  lurch — 
I'm  the  wilder  son,  who  ran  away  to  sea. 

I'm  elected  to  the  Worthless  Sailormen — 
The  world  can  tell  you  just  what  I  will  do — 
Get  drunk  and  ship;  get  paid,  and  ship  again. 
So  I  do  all  that  I'm  expected  to. 
I  list  a  bit  t'  starb'ard  when  I  walk, 
My  pegs  are  not  as  straight  as  years  ago, 
And  I  shift  my  quid  to  leeward  when  I  talk, 
But  I  take  my  trick  and  stand  it,  heel  and  toe. 

[10] 


SEA  LANES 


I'm  a  relic  of  the  Has  Been,  and  the  Was; 
A  remnant  of  the  things  that  seemed  to  be; 
A  sorry  jargon  of  effect  and  cause, 
And  I  earn  my  daily  bread  upon  the  sea. 
I  chase  the  rainbows  of  the  painted  town; 
I  dicker  with  the  fates,  and  many  men; 
I've  had  my  fun,  and  paid  the  money  down, 
From  Brest  to  Singapore  and  back  again. 
I've  seen  the  sun  go  down  on  every  sea, 
I'm  an  advocate  of  sport  for  love  of  sport. 
I'm  a  loafer  with  the  Stevies  on  the  quay, 
Or  I'll  ship  on  any  craft  for  any  port. 


in] 


SEA  LANES 


THE  SEAMAN'S  HOUR 

When  the  day's  trick  is  over  and  the  running  lights 

are  lit, 

And  the  rigging  fore  and  aft  is  trim  and  tight; 
When  the  evening  watch  is  posted  and  the  gear  is 

weather  fit, 

And  the  crew  has  gathered  forward  for  the  night, 
And  the  smoking  lamp  is  burning  and  the  hammocks 

there  are  swinging — 

Then  a  man  may  know  his  shipmates  as  they  are; 
For  the  fellowship  grows  mellow  with  the  songs  the 

gang  is  singing, 
And  the  sailorman  gets  out  his  old  guitar. 

When  the  blue  smoke  is  curling  to  the  girders  over- 
head, 

And  the  berth-deck  is  merry  with  the  din 
Of  the  laughter,  song  and  story,  ere  the  bugle  blows 

for  bed — 

Then  the  strains  from  the  old  guitar  begin, 
And  you  hear  the  pine  trees  whisper,  out  beneath 

the  stars  alone, 

Or  the  notes  from  famous  concert  halls  afar, 
Till  he  thrums  and  sets  a-quiver  every  heart-string 

with  a  tone — 
When  a  shipmate  plays  upon  his  old  guitar. 

[12] 


SEA  LANES 


As  he  sits  on  his  ditty  box  and  smokes  his  cigarette 
He  will  strike  the  chords  that  somehow  set  you  wild; 
For  they  conjure  up  the  faces  and  the  scenes  you 

can't  forget 

Till  the  fragments  of  the  world  are  'round  you  piled; 
Streets  and  restaurants  and  theatres;  every  rendez- 

vous of  town, 

And  the  glamour  of  the  life  you  left  ashore. 
He  can  lift  you  from  the  depths  of  thought  or  send 

you  crashing  down; 
He  can  bring  you  hopes  you  never  dreamed  before; 

He  can  make  you  forget  that  you  ever  learned  to  hate, 

That  you  ever  had  a  hurt  to  reconcile  — 

And  you  swing  your  hammock,  happy,  up  along-side 

your  mate  — 

When  you've  listened  to  his  old  guitar  awhile, 
And  you  take  the  road  to  slumber  through  the  gates 

of  memory, 
As  you  watch,  out  through  the  port,  some  reeling 

star; 
And  you  hear  the  distant  beating  of  a  swiftly  running 

sea, 
Like  the  music  of  a  far  away  guitar. 


[13] 


SEA  LANES 


THE  FLOTILLA 

Saucy  pennants  take  the  breeze; 
The  screech  of  sirens  splits  the  air ; 
Aerials  hum  like  swarming  bees, 
While  on  deck  the  bugles  blare. 
Heard  above  the  busy  din, 
The  rumbling  winches  gaining  speed 
Drag  the  dripping  anchors  in, 
Fouled  with  mud  and  bottom  weed. 

Long,  lean  ships  creep  slowly  out, 
Jockeying  with  the  channel  tide, 
Swinging  their  sleek  hulls  about 
Till  like  partners,  side  by  side, 
In  and  out  they  seem  to  wind, 
Circling,  cutting  in  to  fill, 
Taking  distances  assigned, 
Like  some  wonderful  quadrille. 

Smoke  clouds  trail  like  giant  quills ; 
Sunset  rays  gild  rail  and  spar 
As  dimly  past  the  shadowed  hills 
The  low  ships  wind  across  the  bar. 
A  wavering  line  with  specks  of  light; 
An  inky  smoke  screen  blown  to  lee; 
A  column  bulking  in  the  night — 
And  our  destroyers  are  at  sea. 

[14] 


SEA  LANES 


Bearing  down,  against  the  sky; 
Bolting  through  the  solid  blue  ; 
Bridging  wave-crests  mountain  high; 
Splitting  giant  seas  in  two. 
Quaking  when  the  head  seas  pound, 
Weather  cloth  and  bridge  a-foam; 
Glad  of  any  holding  ground  ; 
Calling  any  port  a  home. 

Slipping  through  a  rugged  reach; 
Feeling  over  shoals  of  glass; 
Flirting  with  a  strip  of  beach; 
Scouting  up  the  nearest  pass. 
Dropping  into  port  at  night, 
Underway  before  the  dawn. 
Graceful  as  a  gull  in  flight, 
Swifter  than  a  startled  fawn. 

Out-posts  of  the  mighty  fleet; 
Fingers  of  the  battle  craft; 
Messengers  of  willing  feet 
In  the  world  of  fore  and  aft. 
Convoy,  freight,  dispatch  or  mail; 
Up  to  windward,  down  to  lee, 
The  ocean  hounds  are  on  the  trail 
When  the  "Long  Green"  goes  to  sea. 


[15] 


SEA  LANES 


THE  SEA  DOG 

I  wandered  up  and  down  the  quay  to-day, 
And  yesterday,  and  many  days  before. 
In  and  out,  aboard  the  ships  I've  found  my  way, 
And  tramped  the  sun-baked  decks  till  I'm  foot  sore. 
The  shipping  folks  are  mostly  strange  and  queer, 
And  yet,  sometimes  an  old  familiar  face 
Will  greet  me  from  the  decks  or  on  the  pier, 
And  then  I  know  I'm  in  a  friendly  place. 

I  like  to  watch  the  freighters  come  and  go; 
The  lazy  tramps  go  easing  down  the  bay ; 
The  laden  schooners  straining  at  their  tow, 
And  shaking  out  their  canvas  on  the  way. 
I'm  happy  when  the  cargoes  from  the  East 
Fill  the  air  with  scent  of  spices  and  of  fruit, 
For  the  wealth  of  tree  and  jungle,  bird  and  beast, 
On  the  ships  may  tell  the  story  of  their  route. 

I  dream  of  every  port  they  touched  or  passed, 
And  I  feel  the  tropic  breezes  blow  once  more. 
I  can  tell  just  where  they  reefed  or  stepped  a  mast, 
Or  coasted  by  the  lights  along  the  shore. 
I  like  to  feel  that  I'm  a  part  of  it; 
This  great  big  open  business  of  the  sea, 
That  here's  a  place  in  life  for  which  I'm  fit; 
That  somewhere  there's  a  ship  that's  needing  me. 

[16] 


ji 


SEA  LANES 


And  so  I  wander  up  and  down  the  pier, 
And  squat  with  sweating  stevedores  at  noon. 
Sometimes  they'll  share  with  me  their  grub  and  beer, 
And  talk  old  times  outside  the  dock  saloon. 
Sometimes  I'll  board  a  tramp  that's  loading  freight, 
The  biggest  and  the  best  that  I  can  find, 
And  I'll  tell  a  sailor's  story  to  the  mate— 
And  sometimes,  but  not  often,  he'll  be  kind. 

Then  again  I'll  meet  a  mate  I  used  to  know, 
And  he'll  offer  his  tobaccy,  and  his  hand; 
And  then  he'll  shake  again,  and  off  he'll  go  — 
Talking  low  about  the  lucky  dog  on  land. 
But  I  don't  mind  their  curses  and  their  chaff; 
Their  sneering  at  the  story  I  have  told  — 
There's  a  harder  blow  that  strikes  home  like  a  gaff, 
For  when  I  try  to  ship  they  say:  "Too  old." 


[17] 


SEA  LANES 


BLUE  WATER 

I'm  sick  of  the  world  that  men  have  made; 
Their  baubles  of  fashion;  their  color  and  glare. 
I'm  sick  of  their  tawdry  street  parade; 
Their  crowded  shops,  and  the  stifling  air; 
Their  reeking  slums,  and  the  life  at  night; 
The  dust  of  their  cities  is  choking  me; 
I'm  sick  of  deceit,  and  the  sham  in  their  fight— 
And  I'm  going  back  to  the  open  sea. 

Just  give  me  a  ship  with  a  happy  crew, 

And  deep  blue  water  beneath  her  keel; 

Her  bilges  tight,  and  her  compass  true; 

A  trusty  mate  to  mind  the  wheel  — 

And  winds  may  blow  till  the  lee  rail  dips! 

A  God  made  world  is  the  world  for  me; 

Untrammelled,  and  peopled  by  men  of  the  ships 

So  I'm  going  back  to  the  open  sea. 


[18] 


SEA  LANES  $ 


THE  SPORTSMAN 

He  who  knows  the  keen  delight 

Which  campin'-out  time  brings, 
Who  loves  the  crackling  fire  at  night; 

The  song  the  kettle  sings ; 
Who's  sipped  the  nectar  from  a  pot 

Of  fragrant  coffee  steaming; 
Or  tentward  wafted  to  his  cot, 

To  wake  him  from  his  dreaming, 
The  smell  of  bacon  in  the  pan, 

Or  flap-jacks  in  the  turning; 
Who  yearns  to  be  an  out-door  man — 

And  satisfies  his  yearning; 
A  sportsman  who  can  rough  it  right, 

And  though  his  bones  are  aching, 
Can  sleep  beneath  the  stars  at  night, 

And  glory  in  the  waking— 
That  man  has  lived  to  play  a  game 

All  other  games  are  worth; — 
He  has  a  better  right  to  claim 

His  heritage  of  earth. 

He  who  knows  the  great  out-doors 

Of  desert,  woods  or  shore, 
Who  knows  the  wealth  of  nature's  stores; 

Who  knows  her  lure,  and  lore; 

[19] 


SEA  LANES 


Who's  pitched  his  tent  and  sought  his  rest 

In  God's  great  camping  place  ; 
Who's  scaled  the  peaks,  or  plunged  to  breast 

The  stream  where  torrents  race; 
Who's  followed  sledge  and  mushed  the  trail 

Behind  the  yelping  pack  ; 
Who's  clung  aloft  to  reef  a  sail, 

Or  trailed  the  panther's  track  ; 
Who's  stood  a  watch  on  reeling  bridge, 

Or  braved  the  mesa's  heat; 
Who's  tramped  the  woods  and  climbed  the  ridge, 

And  packed  his  kill  of  meat— 
That  man  is  every  inch  a  man, 

His  feet  have  felt  the  sod  ; 
He's  lived  where  only  such  men  can  — 

A  little  nearer  God. 


[20] 


SEA  LANES 


THE  BUSINESS  OF  SAILING 

When  nights  are  cold  and  dark,  and  seas  are  pounding 
loud  as  thunder; 

The  trades  are  shrieking  over,  and  the  bow  is  plung- 
ing under; 

The  man  who's  made  his  business  the  business  of  the 
sea 

Must  stand  to  it  behind  the  wheel  —  the  devil  take 
the  lee  — 

When  stiff  with  sleet  his  oil-skins  rasp  and  crackle 

as  he  sways, 
And  the  icy  rain  that  pelts  his  lashes  freezes  while 

it  stays— 
'Tis  then  he'll  curse  the  sailing  business  up  and  down 

the  main, 
And  dub  himself  the  prince  of  fools  to  take  a  ship 

again. 

When  a  man  has  quit  the  sailing  of  the  seas,  and 

harbored  snug 
Among  the  hills,  with  trees  so  thick  you  couldn't 

hoist  a  lug; 
When  the  line  of  his  horizon  shuts  the  ocean  out  of 

view, 
And  his  course  is  straight  and  narrow,  and  his  mates 

are  mighty  few; 

[21] 


SEA  LANES 


He'll  chafe  against  the  docking  lines,  and  feel  them 

drawing  tight, 
For  his  soul  is  straining  seaward,  and  his  heart  is 

in  the  bight  — 
There  is  dearth  of  real  contentment  in  that  world  of 

hills  and  trees, 
For  the  man  who  made  a  business  once  of  sailing  on 

the  seas. 


[22] 


SEA  LANES 


THE  SURFMAN 

The  surfman  takes  his  dreary  post 
To  bide  the  night,  while  storm  seas  roar 
And  charge  against  a  rocky  coast — 
Till  fury  spent,  they  flood  the  shore. 
He  knows  the  signs  of  peril  rife 
On  such  a  sea  —  and  ere  the  dread 
North  Eastern  gale  has  lived  its  life, 
He'll  count  its  toll  of  shipwrecked  dead. 

His  lantern  bright  and  his  rockets  ready, 
He  keeps  his  vigil  the  wild  night  through; 
His  step  is  firm  and  his  hand  is  steady, 
Though  ghastly  work  is  his  to  do. 
Beneath  his  low  sou'wester's  brim 
He  sweeps  the  sea  with  anxious  eye, 
And  scans  the  dark  for  signals  grim; 
A  blazing  rocket  against  the  sky; 

A  burning  mast  or  a  beacon  light. 
His  ear  is  bent  for  a  siren's  shriek, 
And  through  the  void  of  sea  and  night, 
He  harkens  for  a  ship  to  speak. 
His  being  shrinks  from  the  cold  without, 
But  stout  must  be  the  heart  within — 
For  swift  is  the  foe  that  he  would  rout, 
And  fierce  the  battle  that  he  must  win. 

[23] 


SEA  LANES 


His  oilskins  shed  the  beating  storm, 
But  little  he  knows  of  mirth  and  song. 
With  coursing  blood  to  keep  him  warm  — 
But  none  to  cheer  —  he  swings  along 
And  dreams,  perhaps,  of  the  revelry 
And  scenes  afar  from  his  lonely  strand  — 
But  wakes  to  the  voice  of  an  angry  sea, 
And  his  own  foot-steps  in  the  heavy  sand. 


[24] 


SEA  LANES 


THE  TRYST 
The  Light: 

0  keeper,  trim  my  lanterns  well; 

My  crystal  faces  polish  bright. 
How  goes  the  watch,  no  one  can  tell, 

When  seamen  fail  to  lift  my  light. 
The  night  is  dark ;  the  storm's  forecast 

I  see  in  turbulent  unrest 
Of  oily  swells,  and  rising  fast, 

The  storm  seas  beating  at  my  breast. 
0  keeper,  leave  no  work  undone; 

I  must  not  fail  to  light  the  way. 
'Tis  long  before  another  sun — 

And  who  can  tell  what  brings  the  day? 
The  Ocean  Mail  is  due  to-night; 

The  storm  speeds  on  behind  the  mist; 
Our  pact  is  sealed,  and  with  my  light 

I  must  not  fail  to  keep  the  tryst. 


The  Ship: 

0  Captain,  make  your  vigil  true; 

My  cruising  lights  keep  burning  bright, 
The  Shoal  Light  knows  that  we  are  due, 

And  I've  a  tryst  with  him  to-night. 
The  storm  is  pounding  us  a-beam; 

[25] 


$  SEA  LANES 


My  plates  are  strained  with  every  list; 
The  seas  are  testing  every  seam; 

My  shaft  is  wrenched  with  every  twist. 
0  Captain,  keep  your  lookouts  keen, 

And  batten  down  my  hatches  tight. 
The  sea  wolves  follow,  lank,  and  lean — 

We  must  not  miss  the  beacon  light. 
The  keeper  watches  in  the  tower; 

The  storm  has  beaten  down  the  mist; 
The  Shoal  Light  knows  it  is  my  hour — 

I  must  not  fail  to  keep  the  tryst. 


[26] 


SEA  LANES 


THE  "CALLAO  PAINTER" 

Silent  artist  of  the  sea ; 

Tell  us  why  this  mystery; 

Never  brush  or  palette  near, 

When  your  canvasses  appear, 

Yet  no  novice  daub  or  smirk 

Is  your  clever  handiwork. 

Through  the  darkened  leagues  we  know 

Is  your  deep  sea  studio, 

But  your  silent,  locked  estate 

Science  cannot  penetrate. 

You,  Aladdin's  power  hold, 

Or,  the  Midas  touch  of  gold, 

When  from  utter  depths  you  steal, 

And  with  magic  wand,  a  keel 

Stroke,  and  Lo!  a  leaden  hue; 

Callao  Painter,  who  are  you? 

Callao  Painter,  tell  us,  pray, 

From  whence  comes  your  pigment  gray? 

Plant  or  fish,  or  mineral  salt 

Acting  on  the  cruiser's  vault; 

Juice  of  kelp  or  ink  of  squid, 

Or  is  your  great  secret  hid 

In  the  soft  aurelia's  cells? 

Shall  we  say  the  grantia's  pores 

Can  secrete  that  paint  of  yours? 

[27] 


$  SEA  LANES 


Or  the  hydroid  and  his  kin, 

Do  they  excrete  lead  or  tin? 

Is  your  art  by  science  taught, 

Is  your  work  by  nature  wrought, 

Or  are  you  a  water  witch? 

Are  you  myth  or  mortal  —  which? 

Mystery  of  old  Peru, 

Callao  Painter,  what  are  you? 


[28] 


SEA  LANES 


THE  ALL-ROUND  MAN 

Give  me  the  man  who'll  take  a  chance 

When  other  men  would  quit; 
Who'll  break  the  bonds  of  circumstance 

And  win  out  by  his  grit; 
Who  dares  to  leave  the  beaten  track, 

Or  stay  against  his  will; 
Give  me  the  man  who  has  the  knack 

Of  being  versatile. 
Give  me  the  man  who's  at  his  ease 

A-field,  with  gun  and  dogs; 
Yet  who  can  grace  the  realm  of  teas, 

Or  don  his  evening  togs 
And  play  a  role  —  at  opera,  dance, 

Reception,  or  the  club  - 
Par  Excellence  among  gallants; 

A  man  who's  not  a  dub 
At  golf  or  bridge;  who  likes  to  dwell 

Within  the  world  of  books; 
Knows  wine  and  women,  not  too  well, 

And  loves  the  song  of  brooks. 
Of  all  the  men  who  tramp  the  earth 

In  life's  great  caravan; 
Of  high  or  low  or  gentle  birth, 

Give  me  the  all-round  man. 

[29] 


SEA  LANES 


DRIFTWOOD 

I  watched  a  piece  of  driftwood  on  the  tide, 

A  thing  deserving  but  a  passing  glance, 

Yet  idly  on  the  waves  I  saw  it  ride 

At  the  mercy  of  the  sea;  a  thing  of  chance, 

Until  the  breakers  cast  it  at  my  feet, 

And  as  it  lay  there  I  soliloquized: 

Was  such  a  tragic  end,  a  just  defeat, 

Or  had  it  been  a  thing  which  men  had  prized? 

Perhaps  a  timber  in  a  mighty  craft; 
A  rudder-head,  a  broken  spar,  a  mast; 
The  wreckage  from  an  over  laden  raft; 
Or  somewhere  hi  the  dim  forgotten  past, 
A  giant  pillar  standing  in  the  flood, 
Where  human  traffic  roared  above  the  tide; 
Or  a  stalwart  pile  up-ended  in  the  mud, 
Beneath  a  dock  where  trains  of  commerce  plied. 

Grown  gray  with  barnacles  and  pearly  shells; 
Replete  with  ocean's  chambered  mysteries; 
The  thing  was  bearded  with  the  drift  that  tells 
Of  vagabonding  in  many  seas. 
But  had  it  mutely  played  a  vital  part 
In  schemes  of  men,  in  days  beyond  recall, 
And  though  inanimate,  had  it  a  heart, 
Or  was  it  only  driftwood  —  after  all? 

[30] 


SEA  LANES 


A  sterner  object  drifted  through  the  spray, 
Riding  heavy,  like  a  ship  in  storm, 
And  as  the  thing  came  nearer  in  the  bay 
It  took  on  semblance  of  the  human  form. 
Across  the  billows,  lying  prostrate; 
Rising  slowly  on  a  foamy  crest; 
Sinking  in  a  trough  with  leaden  weight, 
Until  upon  the  sands  it  lay  at  rest. 

The  guards  attended  that  which  once  was  man, 

And  strove  to  bring  anew  the  breath  of  life. 

And  as  they  did  their  work  I  tried  to  scan 

His  face  for  lines  of  pleasure  or  of  strife; 

To  fathom  his  life  secret  there  in  death; 

To  learn  the  fatal  road  by  which  he  came; 

If  cowardice  or  valor  checked  his  breath, 

And  where  and  how  and  why  he  played  the  game. 

But  only  staring  eyes  looked  up  at  mine, 
And  only  swollen  lips  which  could  not  tell, 
And  on  his  stolid  face  was  not  a  line 
To  say  if  life  with  him  went  ill  or  well. 
And  as  they  raised  and  carried  him  away 
I  wondered  —  did  his  hand  offend  a  brother; 
Was  his  life  success  or  failure,  sad  or  gay; 
Or  was  he  only  driftwood  —  like  the  other? 


[31] 


SEA  LANES 


UP  ANCHOR 

There  is  romance  in  a  sailing;  there's  adventure  on 

the  sea, 
For  the  slipping  of  a  hawser  sets  the  careless  seamen 

free, 
And  a  world  fades  out  behind  them  and  another 

looms  ahead 

Every  time  a  screw  is  churning  or  a  mainsail's  spread ; 
Trysts  and  promises  are  broken,  fame  and  fortune 

cast  away; 
Tears  may  fall  upon  the  harbor,  where  a  loved  ship 

lay, 
But  it's  "All  hands  for'rd!"  and  it's  "Fore  sheet; 

haul!" 
And  it's  "Stand  by,  me  hearties!"  when  the  sailors 

hear  the  call, 

"All  hands,  up  anchor!" 

Oh,  how  bright  the  combers  glisten  and  how  clear  the 
headlands  are 

When  we're  homeward  bound  and  standing  out  be- 
yond the  harbor  bar; 

How  the  scudding  clouds,  reflected,  chase  the  white- 
caps  up  the  sea, 

And  the  seagulls'  noisy  convoy  seems  to  leave  re- 
luctantly; 

[32] 


SEA  LANES 


How  the  throbbing  screws,  in  chorus,  seem  to  sing 

the  joy  we  feel, 
As  they  race  and  pound  and  rumble  through  the 

leagues  beneath  our  keel; 
How  the  morning's  routine  lightens  when  we  clear 

our  holdin'  ground; 
How  we  man  the  hoistin'  tackle  when  we  hear  that 

welcome  sound, 

"All  hands,  up  anchor!" 

There  are  songs  of  home  and  country,  there  are  hails 

that  thrill  and  cheer; 
There  are  customs  and  traditions  which  to  every 

man  are  dear; 
There  are  memories  which  hold  us  in  a  spell  of 

ecstasy; 
There  are  thoughts  which  seem  to  bind  us  until  others 

set  us  free; 
But  the  song  with  deepest  meaning,  in  the  world  that 

seamen  know, 
Brings  them  mingled  joy  and  sorrow  as  it  bids  them 

come  or  go, 

For  it's  "All  hands  aft!"  and  it's  "Main  sheet,  haul!" 
And  it's  "Stand  by,  me  hearties!"  when  the  sailors 

hear  the  call, 

"All  hands,  up  anchor!" 


[33] 


SEA  LANES 


LOOKING  SEAWARD 

I  wonder  what  lies  over  there, 

Where  sea  and  heavens  meet; 

The  place  where  golden  sunsets  flare, 

And  lay  their  jewelled  street 

Across  the  billows  back  to  me, 

Until  sometimes  I  think 

I'll  take  that  path  across  the  sea, 

And  just  peek  o'er  the  brink 

Of  that  abyss  which  welcomes  all 

Who  cross  its  dim  threshold. 

I  wonder  what  strange  haunts  enthrall, 

Beyond  that  rim  of  gold, 

The  countless  hordes  that  sail  away 

To  lands  for  which  they  yearn  — 

But  whose  kin  watch  for  many  a  day 

In  vain  for  their  return. 

I  wonder  where  the  white  ships  go, 
That  sail  against  the  sky. 
I  wonder  if  I'll  ever  know 
The  mysteries  that  lie, 
Or  romances  of  those  who  dwell 
Beyond  that  stretch  of  blue. 
I  wonder  if  the  tales  they  tell 
Of  foreign  lands  are  true; 

[34] 


SEA  LANES 


If  green  fringed  atolls  dip  their  strands 

Beneath  the  turquoise  seas, 

And  palm  strewn  beaches  cool  their  sands 

On  every  tropic  breeze; 

If  wondrous  castle  walls  still  ring 

With  chivalrous  tales  of  old, 

And  over  crumbling  ruins  cling 

The  ivy  and  the  mold; 

I  wonder  in  my  dreams,  if  I 

On  some  swift  cloud  set  sail, 

With  some  low  star  to  steer  her  by, 

My  craft  would  reach  that  pale 

Whose  endless  wall  the  sun  and  stars 

Traverse  in  mystery, 

And  through  whose  mist  the  glint  of  spars 

Oft  comes  and  goes  at  sea. 


[35] 


SEA  LANES 


SEA  LONGINGS 

I'd  rather  ride  the  billows  high, 
Or  buck  the  trades  with  empty  hold, 
Than  scale  the  peaks  that  touch  the  sky, 
Or  tramp  the  woods  of  green  and  gold. 

I'd  rather  have  my  choice  of  ships 
And  steer  her  by  the  palest  star, 
Than  bide  the  stares  and  painted  lips 
That  revel  where  the  bright  lights  are. 

I'd  rather  feel  the  biting  spray, 
Blown  bridge- ward  from  a  slaked  jib-boom, 
Than  hear  the  gossip  of  the  day 
Within  the  stately  drawing  room. 

I'd  rather  see  a  sunset  die 
At  sea  beneath  the  Southern  Cross, 
Than  turn  the  lamp  of  life  too  high 
And  share  the  gamblers'  nightly  loss. 

I'd  rather  know  the  men  on  decks, 
Of  shifting  quid  and  stubble  beard, 
Than  all  the  city's  pallid  wrecks, 
Of  riches  born  and  gentry  reared. 


[36] 


SEA  LANES 


THE  SUMMER  STORM 

I  leave  the  path  by  drift  and  dune 

And  turn  my  face  to  the  open  sea ; 

My  heart's  apace  with  the  waves'  dull  tune, 

And  something  stirs  in  the  soul  of  me. 

The  white-caps  change  to  oily  swells; 
In  the  offing  ships  are  shortening  sail; 
The  warning  cry  of  the  gull  foretells 
The  coming  of  a  summer  gale. 

A  cloud  bank  hangs  where  the  sun  went  down ; 

The  harbor  lights  are  sifting  through 

A  dull  gray  mist  which  hides  the  town. 

The  off-shore  wind  springs  up  a-new; 

The  harbor  craft  are  taking  lee ; 

The  twilight  turns  to  a  darker  gray  — 

A  silence  falls  on  land  and  sea  — 

Then  rain  clouds  drive  the  mist  away; 

The  angry  seas  are  flung  inland; 
The  pebbles  threshed  in  the  under-tow ; 
The  breakers  pound,  and  the  shifting  sand 
Is  flecked  with  spume  like  driven  snow. 
I  steel  myself  to  the  stiffening  breeze 
And  briskly  walk  the  clean  washed  shore. 

[37] 


$  SEA  LANES 


I'm  wet  with  spray  from  the  lurching  seas; 
My  foot-steps  grind  on  the  hard  beach  floor ; 

My  chosen  way  is  the  tempest's  way; 
My  soul's  attuned  to  the  old  gray  sea; 
I  walk  the  beach  on  a  stormy  day  — 
And  nature  sings  in  the  heart  of  me. 


[38] 


SEA  LANES 


SEA  MUSING 

If  I  could  have  chosen  the  place  of  my  birth, 

And  fashioned  my  cradle  near  by, 
And  built  from  the  beauties  of  all  the  earth 

A  bower  in  which  to  lie ; 
My  life  would  have  stirred  to  the  cool  caress 

Of  a  salt  spray  kissing  me; 
My  cradle  have  swung  with  the  gentleness 

Of  a  summer  breeze  at  sea. 

If  I  had  the  choice  of  a  spot  to  dwell 

And  foster  the  business  of  life, 
I'd  flee  from  the  marts  where  the  pulses  swell 

In  the  heat  of  the  cities'  strife, 
And  follow  the  men  who  can  stand  to  the  wheel 

In  the  teeth  of  a  blow  at  sea; 
I'd  brother  the  breed  of  the  deep  sea  keel, 

And  share  their  destiny. 

Should  I  have  the  choice  of  a  place  in  the  sun 

When  old  age  comes  to  me, 
Where  I  may  rest  when  my  work  is  done, 

I'll  wait  beside  the  sea. 
If  I  had  the  choice  of  a  place  to  die 

I'd  choose  some  rocky  shore, 
With  a  humble  home,  and  friends  near  by, 

And  the  sound  of  the  breakers'  roar. 

[39] 


SEA  LANES 


A  FOG  AT  SEA 

A  world  oppressed  by  dearth  of  life  and  light; 
A  universe  of  water  and  of  mists 
Without  sun  to  cheer  the  day,  or  stars  the  night; 
A  sphere  wherein  no  moving  thing  exists 
Except  the  rise  and  fall  of  some  lone  ship, 
Riding  blindly  through  a  dank  eternity, 
With  but  the  music  of  her  measured  dip 
To  break  the  silence  of  a  fog  bound  sea. 

The  shrouded  waves  seem  listless  and  depressed, 
Devoid  of  spectral  hues  which  give  them  life. 
The  low  gray  swells  in  sinuous  unrest 
Rise,  but  to  fall,  the  weaker  for  their  strife. 

No  living  thing  is  seen  upon  the  crests; 
The  finny  tribes  avoid  the  bleakness  there, 
The  sea  birds  seek  their  far  Sargasso  nests 
And  shun  the  sadness  of  the  humid  air. 
The  night  descends,  but  not  unlike  the  day, 
Save  the  bank  of  mist  has  changed  to  darker  hue, 
And  Stygian  seas  dissolving  those  of  gray 
Proclaim  a  world  where  all  is  lost  to  view. 

A  siren's  blast  intensifies  each  lull; 

The  moaning  of  a  buoy  sounds  somewhere ; 

[40] 


SEA  LANES 


Its  plaintive  tones  too  muffled  and  too  dull 

To  wake  an  echo  on  the  heavy  air. 

The  search-light's  steely  gleams  reach  pale  and  cold, 

Where  castle  walls  of  fog  their  rays  resist, 

And  like  the  weapons  hurled  by  knights  of  old, 

They  shatter  on  the  parapets  of  mist. 


[41] 


SEA  LANES 


SOUTH  OF  FIFTY -THREE 

The  roughest  jack  who's  sniffed  a  breeze 

Behind  a  channel  fog; 
The  toughest  tar  on  seven  seas 

That  ever  stood  the  "dog," 
Are  gentlemen,  and  highly  bred, 

Whatever  manner  born  — 
Who  reverence,  alive  or  dead, 

The  men  who  sailed  the  Horn ! 

So  skippers  all,  hear  my  appeal, 

And  lay  aft  all  your  men; 
And  bare  your  heads,  and  let  us  feel 

They're  on  the  seas  again  — 
And  choose  what  form  of  praise  you  may, 

But  speak  it  from  the  heart  — 
And  say  not  less  of  them,  than  they 

Were  masters  of  their  art. 


[42] 


SEA  LANES 


LOSTjAT  SEA 

The  mighty  fleet  in  sombre  gray, 
Majestic,  silent,  ploughed  its  way, 
When  from  a  lookout's  post  somewhere 
Rang  out  upon  the  evening  air 
The  sea's  most  terrifying  word; 
"Man  overboard"!— no  sooner  heard, 
Than  down  the  cruisers'  column  went 
The  word  by  life-buoy  watches  sent  — 
Then  bugles  sounded!  signals  flashed! 
The  life-boats,  ready,  hung  unlashed, 
And  crews  were  mustered  at  each  boat  - 
No  sooner  manned  than  put  afloat  — 
Then  toward  the  life-buoy's  lurid  light 
A  dozen  life-boats  cut  the  night; 
A  dozen  crews  bent  o'er  a  task 
No  man  aboard  would  dare  to  ask 
A  respite  from,  or  question  when 
His  oars  would  come  to  rest  again. 

Aloft,  the  searchlights'  gleaming  light 
Pierced  the  chasm  of  the  night; 
Among  the  crews  no  word  was  said; 
With  hopeful  vigilance,  yet  dread, 
They  circled  'round  the  drifting  light; 

[43] 


SEA  LANES 


The  dark  abyss  of  sea  and  night 

They  searched,  in  vain,  for  any  sign, 

Accidental,  or  by  design, 

Which  struggling  life  might  give  to  them, 

Or  drifting  dead  might  bring  to  them  — 

A  watchful  hour  passed,  and  then, 

Aloft  the  signals  flashed  again  ; 

Bugles  sounded  boat  recall; 

Then  muster-roll,  and  that  was  all  — 

The  mighty  fleet  in  sombre  gray, 

Majestic,  silent,  went  its  way. 


[44] 


SEA  LANES 


KINDRED  SHIPS 

My  soul  is  where  the  gray  ships  are ; 

My  truant  heart  is  on  the  sea; 

Hull-down  beyond  the  harbor  bar 

My  white  sailed  thoughts  are  running  free; 

And  if  the  winds  blow  foul  or  fair, 

Or  white  shoals  glisten  beneath  their  lee, 

I'm  part  of  the  life  of  things  out  there  — 

And  all  the  ships  are  akin  to  me. 

I  know  the  strength  of  bolt  and  bar 
In  the  towering  hulls  of  pulsing  steel; 
The  life  that  sparks  from  mast  and  spar, 
And  the  language  of  each  vibrant  keel. 
I  know  the  feel  of  a  beam-sea  kick ; 
I've  manned  the  yards  to  a  frozen  sheet; 
There's  life  for  me  in  a  steering  trick, 
And  I've  laughed  through  the  gale  at  the  biting 
sleet. 

There's  a  deep  sea  roll  in  the  legs  of  me; 
My  ears  are  attuned  to  the  breakers'  roar; 
I'm  akin  to  the  ships,  for  I've  served  the  sea  — 
And  my  heart  goes  out  to  the  world  off-shore. 


[45] 


SEA  LANES 


SONGS  OF  THE  FO'C'S'LE 
SHIPMATES 

Don't  y'  sometimes  get  t'  wishin' 

Fer  th'  good  old  days  at  sea, 
Can't  y'  hear  th'  bow  waves  swishin', 
An'  th'  windward  scuppers  dishin' 
Seas  she  took  so  handsomely? 

Don't  y'  sometimes  get  t'  thinkin' 
Of  th'  sights  an'  sounds  aboard, 
Can't  y'  see  th'  signals  blinkin', 
Can't  y'  hear  th'  mess  gear  clinkin' 
When  th'  coffee's  bein'  poured? 

Can't  y'  feel  y'  thoughts  go  boundin' 

Back  t'  some  forgotten  cruise, 
Can't  y'  hear  th'  leadsmen  soundin', 
Can't  y'  hear  th'  beam  seas  poundin' 
An'  th'  rumblin'  of  th'  screws? 

Don't  y'  seem  t'  jest  be  clingin' 

T'  th'  pals  of  long  ago, 
Can't  y'  hear  their  voices  ringin', 
Can't  y'  hear  th'  gang  a-singin' 

All  th'  songs  y'  used  t'  know? 

[46] 


$  SEA  LANES 


Don't  y'  dream  o'  strange  old  places, 

That  y'  used  t'  visit  then, 
See  th'  customs  of  odd  races, 
An'  look  into  shipmates'  faces 

That  y'll  never  meet  again? 

Can  y'  keep  th'  thoughts  from  comin' 

When  a  ship  gets  under  way, 
Or  y'  hear  some  lad  a-hummin' 
Marchin'  tunes,  or  hear  th'  drummin' 
An'  th'  band  begins  t'  play? 

Can  y'  keep  th'  lump  from  swellin' 

In  y'  throat  at  fleet  parade, 
Don't  y'  feel  like  up  an'  yellin' 
When  th'  crews  go  by,  an'  tellin' 
Them  y'  kinda  wish  y'd  stayed? 


147J 


SEA  LANES 


THE  OLD  SCUTTLE-BUTT 

How  dear  to  my  heart  are  the  scenes  of  my  cruises, 

When  fond  recollection  presents  them  to  view. 

Not  one  of  those  dreams  of  the  fo'c's'le  loses 

The  charm  of  each  spot  that  my  rookie  days  knew. 

The  sound  of  the  bugle  at  reveille  routing 

The  crew  from  the  hammocks  which  hung  neck  an' 

neck; 

The  din  of  the  mess-gear;  the  laughing  and  shouting 
Around  the  old  scuttle-butt,  there  on  the  deck. 

The  old  wooden  scuttle-butt; 

Iron  bound  scuttle-butt; 
Cool,  dripping  scuttle-butt,  on  the  gun-deck. 

The  songs  that  the  gang  used  to  sing  in  the  twilight, 
Their  pipes  all  a-glowin'  with  yellow  and  red, 
Just  layin'  on  deck  till  the  last  bit  o'  sky  light 
Had  gone,  where  the  sun  was  hull-down  and  abed. 
The  faces  which  peered  above  every  tin  dipper; 
The  laughter  that  rang  as  we  leaned  at  the  brink; 
The  hails  that  were  cheery,  the  jokes  that  were 

chipper, 
The  fellowship  there,  which  we  quaffed  with  each 

drink 

From  the  old  wooden  scuttle-butt; 
Iron  bound  scuttle-butt; 
Cool,  dripping  scuttle-butt,  on  the  gun-deck. 

[48] 


SEA  LANES 


SHAKIN'  DOWN 

I  c'n  see  'em  at  inspection, 
Like  th'  scene  wuz  yesterday; 
Awkward  squads  from  ev'ry  section 
All  on  deck  in  bright  array. 
I  c'n  hear  th'  orders  hummin' ! 
Layin'  out  th'  work  t'  do  — 
Things  on  board  wuz  up  an'  comin'I 
Shakin'  down  th'  rookie  crew. 

Guardo  sailors,  an'  Cob-dockers 
Barrack  seamen  by  th'  score; 
Fresh  as  their  new-painted  lockers, 
Greener  than  th'  grass  ashore 
When  it  come  t'  deep-sea  sailin' ! 
But  b'fore  th'  cruise  wuz  through 
We  wuz  trim  from  peak  to  railin' — 
Shakin'  down  th'  rookie  crew. 

They  wuz  never  where  they  should  be; 
They  wuz  always  loafin'  aft; 
They  wuz  soft  as  lubbers  could  be 
When  they  come  aboard  th'  craft. 
They  wuz  white,  an'  kinda  scrawny, 
But  we  took  an'  put  'em  through, 
An'  we  made  'em  hard  an'  brawny  — 
Shakin'  down  th'  rookie  crew. 

[49] 


SEA  LANES 


They'd  come  stragglin'  out  fer  drillin', 
An'  their  gear  wuz  stiff  an'  new ; 
They  wuz  victims  of  th'  grillin' 
By  th'  old  ones  in  th'  crew, 
But  they  stood  th'  trainin'  racket, 
An'  they  come  back  seamen  too, 
When  we  sailed  on  our  old  packet  — 
Shakin'  down  th'  rookie  crew. 


[50] 


SEA  LANES 


ANCHOR  WATCHES 

Ever  stood  th'  twelve  t'  four 
Anchor  watch,  alone  at  night, 
When  th'  lights  along  th'  shore 
Were  jes'  blinkin'  out  o'  sight? 
Ever  leaned  there  on  th'  railin' 
Jes'  b'fore  th'  night  wuz  run, 
Stood  an'  watched  th'  stars  a-palin' 
Till  they  dropped  out  one  by  one? 

Ever  felt  th'  old  craft  swingin' 
Till  th'  chains  'ud  grind  an'  slip? 
All  y'  toes  an'  fingers  stingin' 
Where  th'  off-shore  wind  'ud  nip ; 
Water  gurglin',  deep  an'  black, 
'Round  th'  bow,  an'  sorta  drippin' 
An'  a-sloshin'  up  an'  back 
Where  th'  windward  drains  wuz  dippin'. 

Watch  cap  pulled  about  yer  ears, 

Pea  coat  buttoned  snug  an'  tight; 

What  strange  thoughts  an'  hopes  an'  fears 

Used  t'  come  on  watch  at  night! 

Ever  felt  so  blamed  alone 

That  it  seemed  like,  fore  an'  aft, 

Every  spar  an'  mast  had  grown 

Into  some  great  spectre  craft? 

[51] 


SEA  LANES 


Ever  been  so  cold  an'  sleepy 
Y'  could  hardly  walk  yer  post? 
Ever  felt  so  scared  an'  creepy 
Every  stanchion  wuz  a  ghost, 
An'  it  seemed  like  ev'ry  creakin' 
Of  th'  decks  'ud  let  y'  through, 
An'  that  bosuns'  mates  wuz  sneakin' 
In  th'  shadows  watchin'  you? 

Ever  heard  th'  gulls  a-screamin' 
At  th'  first  gray  peep  o'  dawn, 
Ever  find  y'self  a-dreamin' 
Jes'  b'fore  eight  bells  had  gone? 
Ever  feel  y'  thoughts,  now,  throngin' 
Back  t'  things  that  happened  then, 
Ever  find  y'self  jes'  longin' 
Fer  an  anchor  watch  again? 


[52] 


SEA  LANES 


BUMBOATS 

I've  had  a  whirl  at  games  of  chance 

From  Bombay  'round  to  Cork, 
I've  sensed  the  ways  of  high  finance 

In  little  old  New  York; 
I  know  the  way  a  bargain's  made 

In  Continental  marts, 
Where  crafty  merchants  vie  for  trade 

And  practice  cunning  arts; 
But  when  I  call  them  back  to  mind, 

I  make  a  solemn  vow  — 
There's  only  one  of  all  their  kind 

Could  sell  me  something  now. 
There's  only  one  that  ever  can 

Bring  pleasant  thoughts  to  me  — 
And  that's  the  little  bumboatman, 

Who  paddles  out  to  sea; 
With  his:  "Gotta  nice  ripa  banan, 

You  buy  da  beeg  orange?  he  sweet  I 
Gotta  cigarette;  lika  da  fan? 

You  lika  da  fine  parakeet?  " 

0,  how  we  watched  them  coming  out, 
At  first  they  looked  like  specks, 

Just  creeping  down  the  bay,  and  'bout 
The  tune  we'd  scrubbed  down  decks, 

[53] 


SEA  LANES 


They'd  be  a-hovering  'round  like  gulls  — 

Just  waiting  for  "mess  gear," 
The  band  would  play,  and  in  the  lulls 

We'd  call  the  bumboats  near, 
And  on  the  wonders  in  each  boat 

We'd  feast  our  hungry  eyes, 
And  as  the  little  craft  would  float, 

We'd  bargain  for  a  prize; 
Coral,  shells,  and  blow-fish,  dried, 

And  fruit,  and  Guava  jell, 
And  nuts,  and  gum,  and  dried  snake  hide, 

And  lace,  and  tortoise  shell  — 
Then  'twas  "Gotta  nice  ripa  banan, 

You  buy  da  beeg  orange?  he  sweet! 
Gotta  cigarette;  lika  da  fan? 

You  lika  da  fine  parakeet?  " 

No,  you  may  have  your  gilded  shops, 

Their  tinsel  and  their  glare; 
The  scent  of  sandalwood,  and  hops, 

And  incense  burning  there; 
Your  money-changers,  lottery  sharks, 

And  sleek  rug  merchant's  guise; 
Your  hounding  guides  around  the  parks, 

And  curb  stock  broker's  lies  — 
The  bumboatmen  are  not  the  breed 

That  squat  in  Europe's  mart, 
They  barter  for  their  daily  need  — 

Deceit  is  not  their  art. 

[54] 


SEA  LANES 


If  there's  reward  for  toil  and  strife, 

When  comes  the  final  summing, 
In  cheering  up  a  sailor's  life  — 

Bumboaters  have  it  coming; 
With  their:  "Gotta  nice  ripa  banan, 

You  buy  da  beeg  orange?  he  sweet! 
Gotta  cigarette;  lika  da  fan? 

You  lika  da  fine  parakeet?  " 


[55] 


SEA  LANES 


HEROES 

Attention!    Doughboys,  Engineers, 
Aero,  Tanks  and  Cavaliers; 
You  guys  with  medals  on  your  breasts, 
And  Service  stripes,  throw  out  your  chests! 
You  done  us  proud,  and  you  can  tell 
The  folks  at  home  why  war  is  hell. 
But  Halt!    You  land  fighters,  enough! 
Don't  corner  all  the  hero  stuff; 
The  world  knows  how  you  scaled  the  top ; 
That  nothing  short  of  hell  could  stop 
Your  tanks  and  planes  and  gas  attacks. 
There's  nothing  that  your  valor  lacks  — 
But  while  we  talk  of  fighting  jobs, 
Have  you  guys  heard  about  the  Gobs? 
I  mean  the  web-feet  on  our  ships, 
A  little  bunch  that  sometimes  slips 
Your  minds,  when  you  trench  diggers  run 
The  gamut  of  the  deeds  you've  done; 
You  faced  barrage  and  gas  and  shell, 
You  done  the  job  —  and  done  it  well, 
But  could  you  lads  have  faced  it  all 
Without  the  ground  on  which  to  fall? 


[56] 


SEA  LANES 


THE  MYSTERY 

I'm  back  on  my  old  job  again;  the  boss  has  raised 

my  pay. 
I've  donned  "civilians,"  and  I've  put  my  uniform 

away. 
The  folks  are  proud  because  their  son  has  done  his 

bit  at  sea, 
And  everybody  'round  the  house  is  happy  —  except 

me. 
There's  something  I  don't  understand,  about  this 

coming  home. 
For  when  I  should  be  most  content,  my  thoughts 

begin  to  roam, 

And  when  I  light  my  cigarette,  I  seem  to  see  the  gang 
Up  for'rd  on  the  fo'c's'le,  and  hear  the  songs  they 

sang. 
When  I'm  awakened  by  a  voice,  I  think  it's  not  for 

me, 

And  I  turn  over  for  a  nap,  and  wait  for  reveille. 
And  'round  the  steaming  coffee  every  morning,  now, 

there  clings 

The  memories  of  mess  time,  and  all  the  joy  it  brings 
When  a  fellow  comes  off  morning  watch,  with  not  a 

bite  since  four, 
And  cold  and  drenched  —  and  his  relief  a  half  hour 

late,  or  more. 

[57] 


SEA  LANES 


The  wind  that  howls  around  the  house,  but  brings 

delight  to  me, 
For  I  can  hear  the  creak  of  gear,  and  racing  screws 

at  sea. 
The  sleet  which  cut  my  face  today,  as  I  walked  into 

town, 
I  fought,  in  fancy,  on  the  bridge,  where  I  paced  up 

and  down. 
There's  something  strange  about  the  way  I  dream, 

now,  on  the  job, 
And  stranger  still,  that  I  should  long  to  be  once  more, 

a  gob. 


[58] 


SEA  LANES 


UNITED  STATES  MARINE  CORPS 

They're  minute  men  of  Uncle  Sam; 
They  never  ask  —  nor  give  a  damn  — 
What  kind  o'  job  is  theirs  —  nor  where; 
Give  'em  the  order  —  and  they  are  there! 
Quick  on  the  trigger,  and  fight  on  the  run  — 
For  every  man  is  a  son-of-a-gun  — 
With  Uncle  Sam's  Marines. 

They're  hard-shelled  cusses,  and  full  o'  grit; 
They're  seasoned,  and  nervy,  and  battle -fit; 
Shoulder  to  shoulder,  and  hand  to  hand, 
They're  first  at  sea  and  first  to  land; 
At  home  in  the  trenches,  or  with  the  fleet  — 
And  they'll  take  death  before  defeat  — 
The  United  States  Marines. 


[59] 


SEA  LANES 


THE  HOLYSTONER 

Swashin'  down  th'  quarter-deck,  scuppers  runnin' 

free. 

All  th'  gang  in  workin'  white,  happy  as  c'n  be; 
Smell  o'  coffee  comin'  through  from  th'  galley,  near, 
Gettin'  keener  fer  th'  mess,  ev'ry  sound  we  hear; 
Mornin'   watch   a-swappin'   yarns   that   they   got 

ashore, 
Ev'ry  guy  with  somethin'  new  'bout  th'  night  before. 

Smokes  a-workin'  overtime,  makins'  hard  t'  find, 
Jeans  rolled  up  aroun'  our  knees,  blouses  left  b'hind ; 
Rus'lin'  out  th'  cleanin'  gear,  draggin'  aft  th'  hose, 
Sloshin'  'round  t'  feel  th'  sand  oozin'  'tween  our  toes ; 
Legs  a  tinglin'  from  th'  spray,  dancin'  'round  with 

glee, 
Holystonin'  with  th'  gang  —  that's  th'  watch  fer  me. 

Sun  a-peepin'  from  th'  sea  out  across  th'  bay, 
Fishermen  a-makin'  sail,  gettin'  under  way; 
Gulls  a-whinin'  overhead,  lookin'  fer  their  chow, 
Bumboatmen  a-comin'  out,  driftin'  'round  th'  bow; 
Ship  a-swingin'  to  th'  tide,  chains  a-drawin'  tight, 
Deck  a- wash,  th'  sand  an'  water  shinin'  in  th'  light; 

[60] 


SEA  LANES 


Gang  a-singin',  fore  an'  aft,  songs  of  ev'ry  kind, 
Holystones  a-slidin'  —  slidin'  with  a  merry  grind; 
Wadin'  'round  in  sand  an'  slush,  slippin'  on  th'  deck, 
Tiltin'  up  th'  hose  a  bit  to'ards  a  rookie's  neck; 
Ev'rybody  soppin'  wet,  hungry  as  c'n  be, 
Holystonin'  with  th'  gang  —  that's  th'  life  fer  me. 


[61] 


SEA  LANES 


THE  MEAL  PENNANT 

I've  knocked  about  the  world,  an'  had  most  every 

kind  o'  job, 

An'  when  we  went  t'  fightin',  I  enlisted  as  a  gob. 
I  wasn't  in  no  battles,  an'  I  wear  no  hero  bars; 
But  I  done  my  duty  cheerful,  with  a  thousand  other 

tars. 

An'  now  the  thing  is  over,  an'  I've  hit  the  trail  again, 
There's  lots  o'  things  looks  different  than  I  used  t' 

see  'em,  then; 
An'  when  I  get  t'  dreamin'  of  the  tunes  I've  had  at 

sea, 
There's  something'  in  the  old  routine  looks  better, 

now,  t'  me 
Than  anything  they  hand  me  out,  in  this  'ere  life 

ashore, 
An'  that's  the  old  meal  pennant  that  was  flyin'  at 

the  "fore". 

I  never  was  partic'lar,  fer  I'm  jest  a  workin'  guy; 
An'  I've  hoboed  fer  a  livin'  in  the  days  gone  by, 
But  since  the  war  was  over,  I've  been  driftin'  with 

th'  tide. 

The  jobs  are  like  they  used  t'  be  —  but  I  ain't  satis- 
fied; 
It's  hustle  this,  an'  rustle  that,  fer  sixteen  hours  a 

day; 

[62] 


SEA  LANES 


It's  check  me  in,  an'  check  me  out,  an'  argue  fer  my 

pay; 
They  call  me  on  the  carpet  —  then  it's  lock  step,  or 

rout  — 

Fer  if  I  have  a  word  t'  say,  the  boss  he  pipes  me  out. 
I've  had  my  fill  o'  civil  life  —  'n'  I  ain't  been  out  a 

year  — 

I'm  ready  fer  th'  fo'c's'le,  an'  all  th'  shippin'  gear. 
I'll  holy  -stone  th'  fightin'  top  before  a  howlin'  gale; 
An'  bosuns'  mates  can  cuss  me  out  an'  I  will  never 

wail; 
The  other  guys  can  hit  the  beach,  but  none  fer  this 

one,  when 
The  old  meal  pennant's  callin'  —  fer  I'm  goin'  t' 

ship  again. 


[63] 


SEA  LANES 


"JIMMY  LEGS" 

"Jimmy  Legs"  your  cruise  is  ended, 
You  are  stricken  from  the  list; 
Soon  your  deeds  will  all  be  blended, 
Like  a  gray  hull  in  the  mist, 
With  those  old,  but  fond  traditions, 
And  odd  customs  of  the  sea, 
And  the  story  of  your  missions 
Will  be  only  history. 

Though  a  rough  and  ready  master 
With  an  arm  like  tempered  steel, 
And  an  eye  that  travelled  faster 
Than  the  scud  beneath  our  keel; 
Though  the  terror  of  the  rookie, 
And  the  bane  of  the  marines ; 
Though  the  worry  of  the  "cookie," 
And  star  actor  in  the  scenes 

From  the  fo'c's'le  to  quarter 
Deck,  from  bridge  to  stoking  hold — 
Leading  shirkers  to  the  slaughter, 
Meting  punishment  untold — 
Though  your  specialty  was  taming 
All  the  rookie  pugilists, 
And  you  stopped  our  quiet  gaming 
With  a  lecture — or  your  fists! 

[64] 


SEA  LANES 


Though  you  gave  us  gentle  warnings 

Till  we  wished  that  we  could  die; 

Though  you  stormed  the  berth  deck,  mornings, 

With  a  typhoon  in  your  eye; 

Though  you  merited  profaning, 

And  deserved  it  when  we'd  curse  — 

"Jimmy  Legs"  we'll  miss  your  training, 

For  we  may  get  something  worse! 


[65] 


SEA  LANES 


PAY  DAY 

When  I  get  t'  thinkin'  o'  some  o'  th'  ways 
0'  life  aboard  ship  in  th'  old  cruisin'  days, 
An'  try  t'  pick  out  o'  th'  times  we  had  then 
Th'  one  that  I'd  ruther  see  come  back  again, 
As  I  pictur'  th'  cruises,  an'  all  their  routine 
Goes  by,  like  my  mind  wuz  a  real  movie  screen, 
I  sez  t'  meself ;  "Y'  can  cuss  all  th'  rest, 
But  th'  routine  o'  pay  day's  th'  one  ye  liked  best." 

There  wuz  days  when  th'  rookies  shook  down  fer  a 

trip; 
An'  days  when  we  painted  —  (jes'  'fore  we  coaled 

ship). 

There  wuz  days  when  we  laid  all  our  duds  out  in  rows 
Fer  inspection  —  (jes'  'fore  we'd  have  "scrub  an 

wash  clothes"). 
There  wuz  field  days,  when  all  hands  wuz  up  t'  th' 

neck 

In  dungarees,  paint,  an'  th'  gear  'round  th'  deck  — 
(Sech  corkin'  good  days  't  be  all  mustered  aft, 
Er  turn  to  an'  try  out  th'  life  savin'  craft.) 

There  wuz  never  a  day  when  th'  gang  wasn't  game, 
From  reveille  through  t'  when  hammock  time  came; 
When  a  square-headed  bosun  'ud  cuss  out  th'  crew, 

[66] 


SEA  LANES 


There  wuz  never  a  guy  on  th'  ship  'ud  get  blue. 
We  reckoned  th'  cruises  in  months,  an'  a  butt, 
An'  bragged  t'  th'  gang  o'  th'  short  time  we'd  got; 
We  wuz  happy-go-lucky,  as  long  as  we  stayed  — 
But  th'  days  we  liked  best  wuz  th'  days  we  got  paid. 


[67] 


SEA  LANES 


SWIMMIN'  CALL 

How  th'  boys  'ud  dance  an'  shout 

ft  When  they  heard  th'  swimmin'  call! 

Tore  th'  anchor  chains  wuz  out 

Y'could  hear  th'  boat  booms  fall, 
Then  we'd  rustle  gang-way  gear, 

Both  ears  open,  till  we  heard 
That  old  call  we  loved  t'  hear. 

Time  th'  bosun  passed  th'  word. 
We'd  be  half  undressed  I  guess  — 

Didn't  need  no  drill  at  all 
T'show  up  our  speediness 

When  we  heard  th'  swimmin'  call. 

How  that  old  berth  deck  'ud  ring 

Jest  before  a  swimmin'  bout! 
All  th'  gang  'ud  whoop  an'  sing 

Till  th'  mate  'ud  pipe  us  out. 
"Slap-stick,"  "Leap-frog,"  "Catch-as-can,5 

"Highland  fling,"  an'  "Touch-an'-go," 
'Round  th'  old  berth  deck  we  ran 

Till  our  eyes  jes'  seemed  t'  glow. 
Then  th'  tussle  'ud  b'gin, 

An'  we'd  fight  fer  elbow  room; 
Keen  t'  be  th'  first  one  in  - 

"Be  th'  first  guy  off  th'  boom!" 

[68] 


SEA  LANES 


How  th'  salt  spray'd  sting  our  faces, 

An'  our  hearts  jest  seemed  t'  thrill, 
As  we  warmed  up  t'  th'  races, 

Or  we  jockeyed  in  th'  spill. 
How  we  dived,  an'  splashed,  an'  mingled 

In  a  free-for-all  race  in, 
Till  our  bodies  they  jest  tingled, 

Where  th'  salt  seas  lashed  our  skin. 
0,  th'  swims  I've  had  since  then  — 

Y'can  bet  I'd  give  'em  all 
Jest  t'  join  th'  gang  again, 

An'  t'  hear  their  swimmin'  call. 


SEA  LANES 


"LAY  AFT" 

'Member  how  you'd  get  t'  diggin' 
Into  some  mean  job  b'low; 
Breakin'  out  th'  coalin'  riggin', 
Cleanin'  up  a  dynamo, 
Pumpin'  bilges  er  repairin' 
Engine  room  er  steerin'  gears? 
An'  y'  somehow  wasn't  carin' 
Fer  th'  paint  an'  oily  smears 
On  y'  face  an'  dungarees, 
An'  th'  grease  wuz  thick  an'  slimy 
On  y'  elbows  an'  y'  knees, 
An'  y'  felt  s'  black  an'  grimy 
That  th'  outfit  y'  wuz  wearin' 
'Ud  disgrace  a  coalin'  craft  — 
Then  you'd  leave  th'  job  jes'  swearin' 
'Cause  y'  heard  th'  call;  "Lay  Aft." 

'Member  how  you'd  get  s'  tired 
Y'  could  hardly  work  y'  feet, 
An'  y'  felt  like  you  wuz  mired 
In  th'  job  b'fore  retreat, 
An'  y'  had  t'  almost  crawl 
Back  t'  get  cleaned  up  a  bit, 
An'  y'  thought  th'  only  call 
That  'ud  ever  make  y'  fit, 

[70] 


SEA  LANES 


Would  be  when  they  sounded  taps, 
An'  y'  felt  like  turnin'  in 
Fer  a  "forty-eight"  o'  naps  — 
'Member  how  you'd  kind  o'  grin, 
An'  y'  heart  'ud  give  a  bound, 
When  o'  sudden  through  th'  craft 
Rang  th'  old  f'miliar  sound; 
"All  you  shore  leave  men  lay  aft." 


[71] 


SEA  LANES 


"CHIPS" 

When  y'  look  about  an'  try  to 
Pick  a  shipmate  fer  th'  cruise, 
That'll  be  a  friend  t'  tie  to 
When  y'  kinda  get  th'  blues; 
When  y'  want  a  mate  that's  ready 
With  a  friendship  that's  alive, 
All  his  dealin's  square  an'  steady, 
An'  he  don't  want  six  fer  five; 
When  y'  want  an  open  hearted 
Mate  —  that  hasn't  got  a  spleen  — 
An'  y'  know  that  what  he's  started 
Will  be  sure  t'  come  through  clean; 
When  y'  want  a  pal  that's  livin* 
With  a  good  word  on  his  lips, 
An'll  take  less  than  he's  givin'  — 
Then  th'  guy  y  want  is  "CHIPS!" 

Can't  y'  almost  see  th'  boys 

'Round  th'  bench  where  old  "Chips"  stood, 

Don't  y'  recollect  th'  toys 

That  he'd  make  o'  bits  o'  wood? 

Don't  y'  recollect  him  mendm' 

Ever'thing,  from  broken  locks 

To  a  deck  swab,  or  his  sendin' 

You  a  fancy  ditty  box? 

[72] 


SEA  LANES 


When  y'  mind  is  sorta  castin' 
'Mong  th'  thoughts  of  long  ago, 
Fer  a  mem'ry  that  is  lastin' 
Of  th'  mates  y'  used  t'  know, 
Y'  will  find  him  overhaulin' 
All  th'  others  on  th'  ships  — 
An'  y'  mind  has  gone  a-trawlin' 
If  y'  don't  remember  "CHIPS". 


[73] 


SEA  LANES 


THE  SEA  LAWYER 

Learned  seers  of  ancient  ages ; 
Oracles  or  wisest  sages — 
Our  sea  lawyer  beats  them  all. 
From  "All  Hands"  to  hammock  call, 
Always  ready  for  debate, 
Captain,  cook  or  bosun's  mate 
Has  no  chance  when  he  begins; 
In  the  game  of  talk  —  he  wins ! 
Talks  long  after  lights  are  out, 
Don't  need  much  to  talk  about, 
Talks  himself  right  out  of  jobs; 
Pesters  all  his  fellow  gobs; 
Argued  with  the  Doc.,  they  say, 
Which  side  his  appendix  lay. 
Talks  the  whole  berth  deck  to  sleep, 
Arguing  on  how  to  keep 
Politicians  free  from  graft, 
Or  marines  from  loafing  aft; 
How  to  make  a  berth  deck  cook; 
Run  a  farm,  or  write  a  book; 
Knows  the  charts  of  every  sea; 
Man  or  beast  or  bird  or  tree; 
Things  that  walk  or  swim  or  crawl  - 
Our  sea  lawyer  knows  them  all. 

[741 


SEA  LANES  $ 


"MAIL,  HO!" 

All  th'  sounds  I've  heard  at  sea 
Can't  compare  with  one  for  me, 
It's  got  all  th'  others  beat 
Clean  from  "All  Hands"  to  "Retreat;" 
Gets  me  —  riggin',  hull  an'  all, 
When  I  hear  th'  bosun  call: 

"Mail,  Ho!" 

When  th'  tender  heaves  in  sight, 
Any  time  o'  day  or  night; 
Rollin'  in  a  rough  sea-way, 
Or  she's  steaming'  up  th'  bay, 
Never  was  a  craft  a-float 
Looked  s'good  as  that  mail  boat. 
Brightest  days  of  any  cruise 
Are  th'  days  we  get  th'  news, 
Makes  no  odds  t'us  which  way 
We  are  bound  on  letter  day; 
Always  have  a  happy  crew 
On  th'  day  th'  mail  is  due. 
'Round  th'  berth  deck  then,  is  where 
Most  of  us  hang  out,  an'  there 
We  jest  yell,  an'  dance  around 
Showin'  treasures  we  have  found; 
Holdin'  some  new  picture  high; 
Tellin'  secrets  on  th'  sly; 

[75] 


SEA  LANES 


Sharin'  every  prize  we  get; 
Candy,  book  or  cigarette. 
Each  guy  happy  with  some  thought 
That  a  welcome  letter  brought. 
Folks  don't  seem  so  far  away 
When  we've  had  a  letter  day. 
We  c'n  laugh  at  distance  then, 
When  we've  heard  from  home  again. 
Lonesome,  homesick,  sad  or  weary, 
One  thing  always  makes  us  cheery  —       , 

"Mail,  Ho!" 


[76] 


SEA  LANES 


THE  OLD  DITTY  BOX 

Old  and  battered  now,  it  rests 

With  the  spinning  wheel  and  chests, 

In  the  solitude  and  gloom 

Of  the  dusty  attic  room. 

Tied  around  with  cotton  line; 

Carved  with  names  in  odd  design; 

Hinges  broken;  lid  askew; 

Warped  and  cracked  —  but  always  new ! 

Dear  to  me  despite  its  knocks  — 

Precious  durned  old  ditty  box. 

When  I  steal  away  up  stairs, 
'Mong  the  beds  and  broken  chairs, 
And  I  loosen  that  old  lid, 
I'm  a  second  Captain  Kidd 
Hunting  for  his  buried  gold  — 
But  no  hiding  place  could  hold 
Treasures  like  the  ones  I  find, 
And  the  thoughts  they  bring  to  mind; 
Dreams  of  ships  and  ports  and  docks  — 
All  from  that  old  ditty  box. 

When  I  take  the  treasures  out, 
And  begin  to  think  about 
Cruising  days  of  long  ago, 

[77] 


SEA  LANES 


Memories  crowd  upon  me  so, 

I  just  wish  that  every  lad 

Could  have  all  the  fun  I've  had, 

And  that  they  could  have,  like  me, 

Golden  hours  of  memory, 

When  their  thoughts,  like  sheep  in  flocks, 

Would  come  from  a  ditty  box. 


[78] 


SEA  LANES 


A  BALLAD  OF  THE  OLD  NAVY 

The  sea's  the  place  for  sailormen  in  fair  or  stormy 

weather ; 
'Round  the  world  and  back  again  they're  all  good 

mates  together. 

We  went  ashore  on  pay  day  night,  Bill  Dykes  the 

mate,  an'  me; 
We  cruised  about  till  we  got  tight  an'  then  went  on  a 

spree. 
We  veered  an'  hauled  an'  tacked  an'  beat,  an'  shifted 

course  some  more, 
Till  we  fetched  up  on  Bleecker  street,  an'  steered  fer 

Jersy  shore  — 
An'  we  wuz  ridin'  even  keel,  consid'rin'  where  we'd 

been, 

Till  a  pair  o'  cops  put  up  a  deal  an'  tried  t'  run  us  in. 
An'  Bill,  he  sez:  "  Turn  To'  has  gone,  I  think  I  heard 

'er  blow", 
An'  he  winked  at  me,  an'  I  wuz  on,  an'  then  he  sez : 

"Les'go"! 

So  Bill,  he  took  th'  biggest  one,  an'  'course  I  took 

th'  other, 
An'  s'help  me,  when  th'  job  wuz  done  y'  couldn't  tell 

one  from  t'other. 

[79] 


SEA  LANES 


Th'  port  side  light  o'  one  wuz  green,  an'  th'  starb'ard 

showin'  red, 
An  t'other  wuz  bleedin'  in  b'tween,  an'  I  thought  he 

wuz  dead, 
Fer  I  downed  him  cold  in  th'  mornin'  watch  with  his 

wood  b'layin'  pin; 
An'  th'  top  uv  his  head  wuz  an  awful  splotch  an'  his 

jaw  wuz  busted  in. 
'N  then  Bill,  he  sez:  "Tis  well  b'low",  an'  he  cast  his 

weather  eye 
Aroun'  th'  street,  an'  he  sez:  "Les'  go,  an'  leave  the' 

lubbers  die." 

Two  sailors  rolling  down  the  dock,  and  making  heavy 

weather, 
A-hoisted  in  with  tackle  and  block,  and  into  the  brig 

together. 


[80] 


SEA  LANES 


RED  LEAD 

You  may  visit  studios 
In  New  York  or  gay  Paree; 
Watch  the  famous  models  pose; 
Study  scenes  of  land  or  sea. 
You  may  sing  the  cubist's  praises, 
Or  a  portrait's  curving  lip  - 
But  for  art  with  all  its  phases, 
Watch  a  deck  crew  painting  ship. 

You  will  never  find  them  stalling 
When  the  paint  begins  to  pour. 
Artisans  of  every  calling; 
Rookies  fresh  from  haunts  ashore 
Hustle  overside,  and  swinging 
On  their  creaking  stages  high, 
Work  to  tunes  the  gang  is  singing, 
Till  they  make  the  red  lead  fly. 

Hieroglyphics  and  odd  creatures; 
Birds  and  faces,  curves  and  lines; 
Ancient  art  with  all  its  features; 
Modern  art  in  strange  designs 
Grace  the  old  hull,  till  the  laughter 
Gives  the  bosun's  mate  a  tip  — 
And  he  finds,  a  moment  after, 
All  hands  busy  —  painting  ship. 

[81] 


t 


SEA  LANES 


Dungarees  and  blouses  spattered; 
Features  standing  in  relief, 
Where  the  spots  of  paint  are  scattered, 
Like  a  decked  Apache  chief; 
Gaunt  and  silent,  wan  and  bleary, 
Daubed  and  smeared  from  head  to  feet 
Come  the  artists,  cramped  and  weary, 
When  the  bugle  blows  retreat. 

There  are  painters  far  more  clever 

Than  these  artists  of  the  sea, 

But  the  scrawls  they  make  will  ever 

Cling  around  my  memory, 

And  their  laughter  and  their  yelling, 

And  the  steady  slap  and  dip 

Of  their  brushes,  will  be  telling 

How  the  old  gang  painted  ship. 


[82] 


SEA  LANES 


THE  ACE 

The  all-resplendent,  independent, 

Dare-devil  Ace. 
The  never-halted,  most  exalted 

Warrior  of  his  race. 
A  nerveless,  swerveless,  fighting  flyer, 
Soaring,  dipping  through  hell-fire; 
Double-daring,  never  caring 

For  the  time  or  place. 

The  unremitting,  never  quitting 

Military  Ace. 
Ever  meeting,  always  greeting 

Danger,  face  to  face. 
Living,  giving  all,  each  day; 
Bombing,  scouting  on  his  way; 
Hope  enthralling,  till  God's  calling, 

Summons  home  the  Ace. 


[83] 


SEA  LANES 


THE  GALLEY 

Though  time  may  dim  each  cherished  scene 

That  I  once  knew  at  sea, 
And  dull  each  sense  which  once  was  keen, 

I  hope  there'll  sometimes  be 
A  vision  come  before  my  eyes 

Until  my  senses  rally, 
And  catch  the  smells  that  used  to  rise 

Above  the  old  ship's  galley. 

Could  fairer  feast  be  set  for  kings 

Than  used  to  greet  our  eyes? 
The  range  heaped  high  with  luscious  things ; 

The  biscuits  and  the  pies; 
The  soup  in  caldrons  steaming  hot; 

The  golden  hot  cakes  flying; 
The  coffee  bubbling  in  the  pot; 

The  eggs  and  bacon  frying ! 

Let  others  dine  in  big  hotels, 

But  give  me  galley  fare! 
I've  paid  the  price  for  fancy  smells, 

And  garnished  dishes  rare; 
I've  tasted  many  a  costly  brew  — 

But  none  of  them  can  tally 
With  some  I've  eaten  with  the  crew, 

From  out  the  old  ship's  galley. 

[84] 


SEA  LANES 


I've  banqueted  and  dined  in  state 

In  wealthy  restaurants; 
I've  waited  long  and  feasted  late 

In  swell  bohemian  haunts  — 
But  I'd  have  gladly  missed  them  all 

To  line  up  in  the  alley 
With  our  old  gang,  and  hear  mess  call, 

Outside  the  old  ship's  galley. 


[85] 


SEA  LANES 


THE  SHIP'S  COOK 

The  gilded  thrones  of  kings  may  pass; 

The  magistrate's  judicial  hall, 

The  Sultan's  court  of  tinkling  brass  — 

They  all  may  go  beyond  recall, 

But  there's  one  monarch  that  will  stay, 

And  in  his  sacred,  royal  nook 

Endure  all  time,  and  hold  full  sway  — 

And  that's  his  highness  —  our  ship's  cook. 

From  out  his  spacious,  steel-bound  cage 

Come  forth  his  edicts  and  commands  — 

No  other  ruler  of  the  age 

Could  issue  more  obscure  demands; 

No  king  could  closer  guard  his  gate 

Against  assassin,  thief  or  crook, 

Or  be  a  sterner  potentate 

Than  our  respected  —  galley  cook. 

But,  though  he  be  of  royalty, 

We  know  the  cook  will  be  our  friend  — 

For  what  would  morning  watches  be 

Without  his  hand-out  at  the  end? 

A  trick  out  on  the  target  raft; 

A  mid-watch  on  the  old  mud  hook; 

A  cold,  wet  field  day,  fore  and  aft  - 

And  we  bless,  then  —  the  old  king  cook. 

[86] 


SEA  LANES 


Who  hasn't  made  a  quiet  trip 
To  cookie's  throne  room  late  at  night, 
When  lights  were  out  aboard  the  ship, 
To  get  from  him  some  tempting  bite? 
What  would  the  life  up  for'rd  be  — 
How  different  things  at  sea  would  look 
If  that  black  coffee  weren't  so  free 
From  our  old  pal  —  the  galley  cook. 

What  joy  we'd  lose  at  reveille, 
If  we  should  fail  to  hear  the  sound 
Of  mess  gear  dropping,  or  to  see 
The  heaping  dishes  passed  around  — 
How  dull  the  routine  of  the  day, 
If,  from  that  guarded,  regal  nook, 
No  golden  morsels  came  our  way; 
We'd  miss  his  majesty  —  the  cook. 


[87] 


SEA  LANES 


JACK  0'  THE  DUST 

Like  a  pirate's  den  of  old 
With  its  chests  of  hoarded  gold, 
Or  the  famed  Aladdin's  cave, 
There's  a  realm  beneath  the  wave 
Where  a  lone  sea-going  man, 
Like  a  hermit  of  his  clan, 
Feasts  upon  his  hidden  treasure; 
Finds  his  work,  and  seeks  his  pleasure, 
Safe  from  wind  and  wave  and  cold, 
In  the  dusty  cargo  hold. 

Walled  about  by  tiers  and  stacks 
Of  his  wealth,  piled  high  in  sacks; 
Tons  and  tons  of  precious  freight 
Stowed  in  box  and  bag  and  crate, 
Dried  fruit,  candy,  nuts  and  rice, 
With  the  wafted  scent  of  spice, 
And  of  countless  sweets  untold, 
Floating  through  the  laden  hold. 
Neither  drill  nor  bugle  call 
Seems  to  worry  him  at  all; 
In  the  work-a-day  routine 
'Round  the  decks,  he's  never  seen  — 
But  he's  always  within  reach 
When  it's  time  to  hit  the  beach! 

[88] 


SEA  LANES 


Though  the  recluse  of  the  crew, 
Known  among  a  chosen  few, 
We  shall  hear  his  praises  sung 
Till  the  last  ship's  cargo's  swung 
When  we  think  of  happy  nights, 
Under  shedding  cargo  lights, 
In  his  cozy  den  below, 
Where  we  heard  the  soft  and  low 
Muffled  music  of  the  screws; 
Where  we  sat  to  win  or  lose 
In  a  quiet  game,  or  shared 
Simple  feasts  our  host  prepared. 


[89] 


SEA  LANES 


THE  BLUEJACKET 

Beneath  his  jaunty  flat-topped  hat, 
His  head  held  high;  his  close-cropped  hair 
With  its  clean  outline,  and  under  that 
The  glowing  bronze  of  his  neck,  laid  bare 
From  the  white  starred  collar  of  navy  blue, 
To  his  full  brown  throat,  and  square-cut  jaw. 
His  features  stand  out  clear  and  true; 
His  profile,  sharp  as  a  keen-edged  saw, 
Against  his  weathered  coat  of  tan. 
His  step  is  firm,  with  measured  length; 
His  brawny  chest,  and  the  ample  span 
Of  his  shoulders  tell  of  harbored  strength. 
His  muscles  hard  as  a  Turk's-head  knot; 
His  sinews  tense  like  cords  of  steel; 
His  piercing  glance  may  blaze  white  hot  — 
Or  shine  with  a  light  that  a  friend  can  feel. 

His  mirth  is  fresh  as  the  open  sea, 

Which  conjures  all  his  hopes  and  fears; 

Which  seems  to  mark  his  destiny, 

And  measure  out  his  laughs  and  tears. 

He  takes  his  fun  and  pays  the  price; 

His  tastes  are  plain  and  his  wants  are  few; 

He  uses  words  not  over  nice  — 

But  his  thoughts  are  clean,  and  his  deeds  are  true. 

[90] 


SEA  LANES 


Tattooed  and  calloused;  perhaps  profane, 
And  a  soldier  of  fortune  now  and  then; 
Steadfast  as  the  links  of  an  anchor  chain  — 
A  rough  and  ready  man  for  men; 
He'll  bide  the  night  with  a  poker  hand  — 
Or  plunge  to  his  death  to  save  a  life. 
At  sea,  in  air;  on  ship  or  land, 
He'll  keep  his  post,  with  perils  rife. 
In  battle,  fierce  as  a  wounded  buck, 
He  plays  the  game  to  the  ordered  end  — 
Or  true  to  a  mate  who's  lost  his  luck, 
He'll  stake  his  life  to  help  a  friend. 


[91] 


OF 


TH,S   BOOK 

WJLL  INCREASE  TO  c« 

DAY    AND    TO    $1.00  ON    TMP-         THEF°URTH 

OVERDUE.  THE    SEVENTH     DAY 


LD  21-100m-12/43  (8796s) 


YB  76099 


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